Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Lessons from Climbing Mt. Massive
On June 26, 2025, my son Jack and I summited Mt Massive, at 14,429 feet, the 2nd tallest peak in Colorado. That one sentence sums up an impossibly difficult-to-describe one-day adventure that he and I have dreamed about for a long time.
The day began at 4:30 AM, when we made coffee, ate a quick breakfast, and drove to the base of the mountain, parking in a gravel lot near what I believe was the Arkansas River.
From there, we put on our backpacks, adjusted our hiking poles, and set off up the trail. It was 5:30 AM by this time. We traversed through pine forests, many of the trees damaged or killed by pine beetles years before. The trail moved gradually up, and for the next four miles, we kept going, crossing two creeks — one using a fallen tree, and the other stepping across on rocks like steps over the rushing water.
As we moved higher and away from the damaged forest area, we began to encounter more ground cover, wildflowers, and healthy pines. As we came out of the forest cover, we could see Mt. Massive looming ahead. To reach it, however, would require three more miles of switchback trails through areas of small brush, grass, and more flowers.
To say it was a breathtaking view is an understatement. As we paused on the trail, we could look behind us at the pine forests below, and surrounding us were miles of mountain ridges, gray from the distance but covered in rivulets of snow marking the beginning of Spring in the mountains.
From a distance, I’ve wondered what those green spaces were like between the forest and barren mountain tops. As we walked along this in-between space, I was overwhelmed by the immensity of the space, the variety of shrubs and grasses, the rocky soil, and the occasional marmot with a wagging tail, running between shrubs and rocks.
Jack, always full of knowledge, explained to me that the lichen on the rocks in this area, which is a combination of fungus and algae, decomposes over time, creating soil, from which the grasses and flowers grow. It takes hundreds of years for this process to happen, which is why it is important for hikers to stay on the trail and not damage these delicate ecosystems.
Here we encountered our first snow. Across the grassy and shrub-filled areas, small snowpacks were visible. Jack pointed out that the pink tinges in the snow are created by bacteria, so hikers should avoid eating snow.
Eventually, we followed the trail higher until we were surrounded mostly by rock, and with the increasing altitude, we were both struggling to breathe. Our steps slowed, and we had to pace ourselves by looking ahead to a clump of rocks as our destination for stopping.
At this point in the hike, we had only seen two other hikers on the ridges ahead. As we headed into this rocky place on the trail, we heard a voice behind us. A young man, dark-headed and walking without a hat or hiking poles, said hello. He was a college student, named Ming, from Colorado Springs, he explained, extending a handshake. He grew up in Boulder and loves climbing.
When we told him this was our first 14-er, he said we had chosen a challenging one, but encouraged us that the summit would be worth it. And with that, he was off up the trail, bounding like a mountain goat. Jack and I looked at each other and laughed. Then we continued our plodding steps, one at a time, wondering if we really could reach the top. Each time I spotted Ming ahead of us, I was encouraged that it was possible.
As we neared the base of the summit’s first peak, I was really struggling with the thought of traversing the ridges it would take to reach the very top. But as we stepped up the trail, suddenly we were at the ridge of the base. In front of us opened an expanse of mountain ranges — endless miles of snow-capped ridges. The sight was so stunning, I actually felt like electricity was running through my entire body. The rush of endorphins was enough to motivate me to keep going.
The climb from here was almost like crawling. There were a couple of places where the pass from ridge to ridge required passing through snow-covered boulders. As we reached the height of one ridge, we would work our way to the next. Eventually, we saw the highest point, and a hiker who was standing on top with his phone out, capturing the moment.
Jack and I reached the summit a few minutes later, and the hiker moved away so that we could have our own moment there. We sat for a while eating and drinking, and just soaking in the horizon of mountain ranges west, north, and south of us. To the east of us lay the forest floor from which we had come that morning, and beyond that lay the town of Leadville, Colorado, where Missy was waiting back at the home we rented.
As we were coming down the summit, we stopped to call her, and Jack called his girlfriend. It felt so amazing to have reached the top and hear their sweet voices celebrating with us.
The climb down was much longer than we expected. Somehow, in the adrenaline of the early morning, we had hiked seven miles up, and we anticipated the hike down would be twice as fast. It wasn’t. The pounding of our feet on dirt trails and rocky pathways was harder than we had expected. We tried to pause to take in the beauty of the landscape.
We began to pick up the pace once we hit the tree line again, but the thought of making it back to the car became all-consuming. We also ran out of water as we hit the last three or four miles. With our water bladders in our packs dry, we carried less weight, but we were also thirsty and had made the good choice of packing extra water in the car for our return.
We crossed back over the two streams, walked back from the healthy green forest into the blighted lower parts, and eventually walked down the long path to the river running by the gravel road and lot where we had parked. It may have been the most excited we have ever been to see a car.
Lessons learned
The drive home was quiet and reflective, but the next day, I asked Jack what lessons he learned from the trip. Here’s what he said:
Lesson 1: Be prepared for it to be harder and longer than expected.
Even though we had trained for months prior to the climb, hiking on the weekends back home, the altitude and trail conditions were still more difficult than any training we had done. Of course, this will be true for anyone reaching high achievement.
Lesson 2: Take more water.
We felt pretty good about our water supplies because of the previous training and never running out. Lesson learned, however, that carrying extra reserves would have paid big dividends at the end of the trail and saved us three to four miles of longing for a drink till we reached the car.
Lesson 3: Two is better than one. He said, “I couldn’t have done that hike by myself. It’s really helpful to have a partner.”
Lots of research backs up this important reminder: we almost always achieve more (psychologically and in practice) when we partner with someone else on achieving difficult goals.
Lesson 4: Mentally prepare for the downhill as the uphill – it’s harder in its own way, and the result of fatigue.
Jack and I had given lots of thought, conversation, and preparation for the mentality we would need to adopt when we hit uncomfortable altitudes. We didn’t anticipate, however, the mental toll of the climb down. Of course, when you are tired and the adrenaline subsides, you should expect the downhill can feel like a more difficult chore than you anticipated.
Lesson 5: Take more time downhill – faster doesn’t mean a better hike.
Having said lesson 4, lesson 5 was something we talked about later too. We passed by some breathtakingly beautiful fields, forests, and waterways without stopping to enjoy the view. Maybe it is unrealistic to expect to be fully present when you’re tired, but it was something we talked about later — wishing we had paused to be in the moment instead of being so fixated on the pace that we missed out.
Let’s Wrap This Up
At one point, I remember looking at the back of Jack’s head as he walked in front of me. His ears were red from the day in the sun. His brown pants were the color of the dusty trail at our feet. His image was enveloped by the blue sky above, with white clouds hovering, the surrounding green of shrubs and grass, the yellows, purples, and whites of flowers along the trail and stretching out to pine forests of green — and the entire horizon surrounding us with other gray peaks covered in rivulets of snow. I tried so hard to imprint this memory in my mind.
At 56 years old, I realize the opportunities for moments like this are limited. For Jack, at 19, the opportunities are still boundless.
For school leaders, the lessons above may sound familiar as you reflect on the school year. Every season brings a significant climb for you, your teachers, students, and community. The hard work is always worth it when you help others achieve their goals, but a few practical reminders can help you maintain perspective along the way.
As you step into a new season, may you be prepared for the reality that reaching goals may be harder than expected, being well-resourced is essential, collaborating with others is more effective than going it alone, the downhill can be just as challenging as the uphill, and it’s important to pause and enjoy the moments along the way. Most importantly, though, is to remember the “why” of the climb — building memories, growing deeper in relationships, and leaving a lasting legacy for someone else to carry forward — these are the best outcomes of our work and our lives.
